


hands to heartbeat (& I'd know you anywhere)

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Bucky Barnes Feels, Childhood Sweethearts, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Stucky - Freeform, bucky is the one who is frozen in ice, steve doesn't turn winter soldier, stucky au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6340507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>steve died during a brutal hydra mission in '44<br/>bucky followed not long after, the world knows this & bucky was so sure that the narrative was right but sometimes facts are stranger than fiction</p>
            </blockquote>





	hands to heartbeat (& I'd know you anywhere)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this killer picture of seb looking like '40s bucky http://givemebackmybucky.tumblr.com/post/141591069432
> 
> for clarification: steve survived the attack in '44 & has watched the modern world evolve and assumed bucky hadn't survived the jet crashing into ice. he thinks bucky will stand a better chance at a new life, a new beginning (after he comes out of the ice) if he lets him think *he* died and sort of watches him from the sidelines. neither have physically aged due to the serum. 
> 
> bucky hasn't been in the modern world very long at all. steve has lived in *new york* for two years.

It was the third Monday in the month of August and Bucky was having one of the worst days he'd had since waking in an era that he never dreamed he'd see in his lifetime.

He'd burnt half a package of bacon and six slices of toast before waving his white flag at last and pouring sugary cereal into the nearest clean dish he could find (hmm...toss the plates that have last weeks spaghetti on them or soak? later, deal with that later) which happened to be a liquid measuring cup but food was food. As it turned out, Lucky Charms with its saccharine sweetness did actually make a decent breakfast but he would've preferred something more filling.

As if this wasn't bad enough he'd locked himself outside of the one bedroom apartment he'd landed for himself a year ago and spent half an hour patting his pockets and scouring the ground for the key only for him to recall the spare key that was safely tucked under a welcome mat that Clint had taken it upon himself to purchase on his behalf. "Go Away" it read in bold black font, fitting.

After two hours spent mindlessly watching television (they really overdo it on the colors) he'd picked up two paper bags of foods that didn't require dishes (your basic frozen Chinese food & cheap pizzas) from the nearest grocer and was sliding his key into the lock when he saw it.

A tuft of dirty blonde hair, soulful blue eyes that he'd recognize in any lifetime and a body that he'd never quite grown into - STEVE.

But that was impossible, Steve had died decades ago during a brutal attack on Hydra and Bucky had lost his mind after; had went bloodthirsty and vengeful in the following weeks. Those days were dark circles under his eyes, an empty cot & endless cups of bitter black coffee while scoping out maps and locations. And in the end he'd chose the road that would take him home, would take them both home at last. He'd crashed a jet into solid ice and the last words he'd spoken were Steve's name and an apology. But fate was a cruel mistress and had dragged him out of an icy grave only to spit in his face - _You've been asleep for 70 years, the world has changed Sgt Barnes._

He'd kept to himself since then; had led a solitary life that revolved around old records and lending assistance to Director Fury when needed.

Life had dulled around the edges without Steve Rogers around to light his world up like the fireworks they watched on his birthday nearly every year.

 

The figure shifted, turning a corner and Bucky's heart pounded painfully in his chest. He dropped both bags at the door and took off after the man in a sprint.

(Let this be him, let this be him)

"Steve!," he shouted.

The man stopped dead in his tracks and turned.

Standing on a busy sidewalk with all of New York bustling around him like a welcome home party was Steven G. Rogers and Bucky was knocked breathless. He was dressed in dark jeans and a fitted navy blue t-shirt, sunglasses tucked along the collar and hair that had only slightly changed in the past seventy years but it was him, no doubt about it.

Steve looked as shocked as Bucky felt and in that moment there was nothing left to do but surge forward as if gravity itself were pressing at their backs. Bucky said nothing as he wrapped both arms around Steve's waist and inhaled; he still smelled the same, still felt warm and solid in Bucky's arms. People passed by with angry expressions at having to walk around them but Bucky didn't give a damn. They could stand there and scream obscenities at him for hours and he would hear nothing but the sound of Steve's very living heartbeat.

"How?," was the only word Bucky could manage to voice. It came out muffled against Steve's shirt.

"Serum, remember?"

Of course Bucky remembered, he hadn't wanted to after Steve's death as he'd woken in the middle of the night too often with the thought of the impossible probability of Steve having survived but it plagued him until he'd narrowed sleeping down to a measly five hours a night.

"They shot you, Steve. I saw the blood, it covered my hands and...your uniform."

He'd tried to tell their squad that they needed to at least bring Steve's body back so he'd have a gravestone to mourn by but they'd been pressed for time and had he stayed a minute longer he would've joined Steve in his fate (a part of him desperately wanted to). They'd left him with a bullet to the heart and a puddle of blood that seeped into Bucky's uniform and stained his hands red. He'd plowed through every bottle of hard liquor he could that night and closed himself off to any attempt at comforting from the others. Still Peggy had dropped by three days after the incident to inform him that it wasn't his fault and he'd felt like falling to his knees and begging her to forgive him for letting go. She'd loved Steve and everyone on base knew it but Bucky...Bucky had crammed all that love into an entire lifetime and hid it away. Dying for Steve was the ultimate profession of love and that was exactly what he'd tried (and failed) to do.

"I didn't say it had to make sense," Steve replied; voice choked up and face buried in Bucky's neck.

"How...how long?"

(How long have you been here with me yet not?)

Steve exhaled, hot against Bucky's skin - "About two years."

(Two goddamn years and you were right there)

"You never tried to find me," Bucky replied.

(Why? Did you not want me?)

Steve squeezed once more and stepped out of the embrace. "I saw you on the news, you'd made a life for yourself and I didn't want to ruin that for you."

Bucky felt like punching him and kissing him at the same time.

(You can be real stupid sometimes, Steve)

He scoffed - "Some life."

"What's that supposed to mean?," Steve questioned.

Bucky took this opportunity to steer them away from the onslaught of people with paper cups full of coffee and briefcases. He pinned Steve against the wall and took deep breaths as Bruce had instructed whenever a panic attack would take hold of him.

"I looked for you, Steve."

The minute he'd regained his facilities he'd screamed Steve's name and SHIELD nurses had promptly given him a very strong dose of tranquilizer. It hadn't been much better when he'd woken. He'd spent what felt like hours swinging between sobbing and feeling nothing at all. As the years went by he still found himself searching crowds for those baby blue's and the ever constant haunted appearance they'd taken on since Sarah Rogers had died. He'd refused to so much as mention Steve's name to the other Avengers (he'd scoffed at that title) but Bruce had understood and they'd slowly formed a friendship built on mutual trust. Because of that Bucky hadn't tensed up and walked out the door when Bruce suggested breathing exercises for the panic attacks he'd witnessed. He'd never been more grateful for them than he was right now.

Steve's breath came out shaky as if he were struggling to keep calm just as much as Bucky - "I know."

"You _know_?"

"I...saw you a couple of times. You almost saw me or at least you _did_ once."

Hyde Park; a man dropping money in a homeless woman's cup; a flash of blonde and broad muscles - it _was_ him.

"The park..." Bucky began, trailing off.

Steve silently nodded, had the decency to look apologetic and regretful.

Bucky shook his head and wearily rubbed his eyes - "Jesus Steve..."

"I'm sorry," Steve said, nearly to himself.

(For surviving? For not telling me? For turning around and letting me find you?)

"You've got no reason to apologize," Bucky replied.

How many times had he repeated that same phrase when Steve would return to their apartment with skinned bloody knuckles & a stubborn apology on his lips?

The weight of a long day spent battling the world and himself settled onto Bucky's shoulders until his body ached. Already he missed the warmth of Steve's arms, the sound of his voice. How long did they have left, he wondered.

(How long until I wake up? This sure is one hell of a painful dream.)

They'd always had a way of sensing what the other was feeling and once Sarah Rogers had tsk'd at them and insisted that they were _both_ going to get sick if Bucky didn't head home. He'd rushed over to the Rogers' apartment after midnight with the sinking feeling that something was off, the world was tilted in all the wrong ways and he'd been right. Steve had barely survived that bout with pneumonia. Bucky had stayed at his side reading comics aloud in between Steve's coughing fits and gently rubbing his back in between.

He shuddered at the recollection.

Steve latched onto the navy wool of his coat and pulled him against his chest.

_Thump thump, thump thump._

(Not a dream. Safe. Alive.)

"Bucky...Buck. I'm so sorry," Steve murmured as he bent to plant kisses at the side of Bucky's temples and the top of his head.

They'd been physically affectionate for as long as Bucky could remember (and that went pretty damn far back) even as Bucky's ma had told them they were getting too old for clinging to one another so much. She'd only told them once and ignored the thousands of other moments where she'd find them holding one another in her kitchen or Bucky's arm slung over Steve's shoulder and lips pressed against his temple. Still, she hadn't minded as much as she'd let on and even encouraged Steve to come over for dinner when Sarah was working. 

And _oh_. _Oh_ he'd missed this.

There was something he'd wanted though, even back then, that he'd convinced himself he could never have but the world had changed since and it wasn't unusual to pass two men kissing one another goodbye before watching the other hop into a cab to head to work or two women trading kisses. He'd ached every time he'd saw them.

And here they were against all odds. He'd waited over seventy years and lived two lifetimes, had survived decades enclosed in blocks of ice and years of feeling nothing but empty numbness. That in itself was more than enough time wasted pining and hurting. 

"How do you return a stolen kiss?," he whispered.

Innocent kisses against Bucky's temple and forehead, those counted.

Steve inhaled raggedly and his reply came out low and choked - "I'm not sure. You've always been good at this sort of stuff. Maybe you could...show me."

On the corner of a busy street with elderly couples passing by & a loud rush of people - Bucky leaned in and pressed his lips to Steve's. The minute they touched everything he'd been missing, every night waking up alone and shaking, every hollow prayer with Steve's name on his lips clicked into place.

Steve rushed into the kiss all desperation and lack of finesse (he hasn't changed, still jumping into things headfirst) and Bucky couldn't help but grin against his lips.

"Lil less teeth," he murmured and nipped at Steve's bottom lip for emphasis.

Steve smiled - a sight Bucky was sure he'd never see again in this lifetime and Bucky leaned in once more to capture it. He wanted to remember how it tasted on the tip of his tongue for the rest of their lives.

"Like this?," Steve asked then followed the question with a thumb against Bucky's lips; parting them; then licking into his mouth with renewed vigor.

Bucky moaned against him and gripped Steve's shirt with both hands as hard as he could.

(Not letting you go, not this time. Not ever.)

They were interrupted by the shutter of a camera. Bucky whirled around to see a woman who was twenty two at most and she turned bright red as she realized she'd been caught. She fumbled with the phone before hurriedly stuffing it back into her bag -

"I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean any harm. I can...I can delete them if you want. I just..I know your faces is all and I'm rambling. God I'm a mess."

Bucky stepped out of Steve's arms and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay. Would you like a better picture? I'm sure that one's blurry."

(I want at least one person to know, to see.)

She gaped back at him, speechless for a moment before nervously taking her phone out once more. Bucky purposely wrapped an arm around Steve's waist (no more hiding, no arms around shoulders. we don't have to do that anymore) and threw the other over the woman's shoulders.

Steve kept a hand on the small of Bucky's back and huddled into the photo.

It shuttered and she turned to show them the result.

On the tiny screen Bucky could see that bright beautiful smile with soulful baby blue's and his own face reflecting that happiness, that love. It truly was a good picture.

"Could you, uh, send me a copy," Bucky asked.

The woman's eyes went wide at the thought of her face in a photo with the legendary Captain America and Bucky Barnes and she grinned widely. 

"Sure - let me just," she began as she pulled up a new text conversation and held it out for Bucky to put his phone number in. 

(Please don't pass out, please don't pass out. Oh god she's going to.)

"T-Thanks," the woman swayed and stammered as she pressed send.

"Not a problem," Bucky replied and waved as she walked away. 

"I have an apartment about 10 blocks from here," Steve said as he took Bucky's hand in his own and brushed his thumb over the knuckles gently.

Bucky flinched.

"10...?"

Steve avoided his eyes, scanned the passerby's instead. "Yeah."

All this time and he'd been _that_ close.

"You're a real peach, you know that?," Bucky retorted.

(Steve. The big idiot.)

"So I've been told," Steve grinned.

Bucky pressed a lingering kiss to his lips once more - (That'll show you, punk. Could've had this all along) and tugged him down the sidewalk toward his own apartment which happened to be right around the corner and littered with the bags he'd dropped.

 

Still this Monday wasn't as rotten as it had started out. In fact it was the best he'd had in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> steve you masochist, I swear to god one of these days bucky is gonna smack you upside the head 
> 
> you should follow (my) steve rogers on twitter for maximum feels, you know you wanna https://twitter.com/thesecretikeep


End file.
